I Didn't Know Where Else To Go
by gingerchangeling
Summary: What if, when Cora arrived in Storybrooke, she was just a bit more direct about it all?


Based on the tumblr post that has the hero showing up at the villain's doorstep.

Season 2 Divergent plot hyena  
I had to feed it to get it to let go and to force my muse to sit down and actually work on the projects I should be working on.

* * *

Hook cast a slow glance out the window panes as another flash of lightning sent another wave of shadows rushing through the cabin, before the tide pulled back and the room fell back into the depths of darkness again. The wind that he could hear howling across the bay continued to cast down the lashing rain that was beating on the deck above. He brought the bottle of rum back up to his lips, feeling it sting the cracks in his chapped lips as the liquid pooled in his mouth, letting the spice settle on his tongue. Then he swallowed, gritting his teeth against the sharp burn as it ran down his throat.

The storm had been raging for almost a full day now. He had been soaked to the bone earlier in the day as he struggled in the lines, anchoring down the sails, before he had headed to the hold to secure what little cargo was there. There hadn't been much left in his stores when Cora had approached him, and as soon as the damn bean had regenerated itself, Cora had insisted that he ferry her to the land her daughter inhabited. And as much as he'd liked to have refused her, he wasn't in a position to do so, not if he too wanted to make it to the new land.

But practically as soon as he'd docked the ship, and the unfortunate harbormaster had taken on a more piscine visage than he probably preferred, the witch had all but vanished, leaving him to his own devices. He had not planned on remaining behind, was going to go out and survey the land, to try and understand what sort of realm he was in. But with Cora's untimely revelation of the presence of magic within the realm, he was practically confined to the ship until he either figured out a way to neutralize it or Cora came back to chaperone him.

When Cora had returned and requested his assistance in locating and observing her daughter, he was pleased to leave the ship. He'd be able to do his own reconnaissance, to see if he could perhaps acquire some knowledge to assist in his quest for vengeance.

But from what little he'd seen of the town, following Cora at her heels, this realm was a strange one indeed. Stiff buildings with sharp lines and travelling paths coated in a strange black rock that made it smooth and level. And hard. In the time they'd spent observing Cora's daughter, he'd found himself unwillingly, or so he told himself, distracted by another presence. By proximity to Regina, he was able to observe Swan in her home realm. As he watched her interact with the townsfolk, and more enlighteningly, a lad who must be the son she fought so hard to return to, the strange behaviors and traits that had so intrigued him when he'd encountered her in Misthaven slowly began to make sense to him. Seeing her in context, he could see where it came from. The hardness of her. The strength. The fear.

Her world was a very different one. And from what he could glean from her, not a very forgiving one.

But as the storm began to blow, whipping his coat tails around his calves and even daring to muss Cora's hair, he knew it was time for them to withdraw and he told her as much. Cora looked over at him with a strange sort of victorious smile that looked about as sincere as a snake's, and she declared that Regina was not broken yet, but she soon would be. And despite not really giving a whit about the woman, he felt some small sympathy for her, knowing that she'd had to grow up raised by this woman. Cora turned to look at Regina one more time before smoke engulfed them. A moment later he felt the slippery planks of the desk under his feet.

Cora stood beside him, her umbrella shielding her from the rain that was beginning to fall. "I'll leave you to your ship, Captain. There are things I have to see to." He hated the breathy coyness that she always addressed him with. But her next words send a small shiver of uneasiness through him. "I need to open up Regina's path, so when she breaks and she comes to me, our road to happiness is clear."

Then she'd vanished into another cloud of smoke, leaving him on deck without waiting for a response. He stared at the spot where she'd vanished, his mind mulling over what she'd said when his attention was abruptly pulled upward by the sound of the top foresail snapping in the wind. With an oath, he quickly divested himself of his coat before climbing aloft to secure the sails and stays for the growing storm.

Once the hold had been secured, he'd had nothing to do but return to the solitude of his cabin to wait out the storm. He'd taken several bottles of rum up to his cabin from the hold, and once he'd changed into some dry linen clothes, he'd slumped into the corner where his bunk met the hull, and there he'd remained.

He took another swig of rum, trying to force his mind away from thoughts that had no business being there. But despite the alcohol he'd used to try and chase them away over the last day he'd been laying there, Emma Swan seemed incapable of giving him any sort of peace. It was an odd cycle of lust, rage, sympathy, and grief.

He'd consider her figure, lithe and tight, hair as fine as the most expensive of silks he'd stolen, eyes brighter than any emerald. His body had wanted her from the moment he'd laid eyes on her.

But then he'd recall that first time, how she'd so soundly seen through him, bested him practically without trying, and he'd been fool enough to allow himself to admire her for it. Fool enough to let her best him a second time when she betrayed him in the giant's lair. The fury he'd felt and the savage joy he'd taken in hunting her, the triumph of looking at her through cell bars. The righteousness he'd felt as he looked into her eyes and called her a liar. But her accusation that he'd have done the same dug under his skin like nothing had in a long time, and his temper had flared, words falling from his lips without a thought, looking her dead in the eye, as if forcing them into truth by the force of his focus. Because he wasn't sure if the words that left his lips were lies or not.

And then the memory of their second encounter would follow, the strange pride he felt swell in his chest as she raised a sword against him without hesitation, the weapon so clearly foreign in her hand, but gripped tightly nonetheless. As she stepped toward him, fury on her brow and a dark sort of determination in her eye, he'd been struck by how different his last encounter of someone fighting for their loved one had gone. As their swords clashed and he could feel her arm tremble under the strain of trying to block his blow, he admired how opposite she was from the Crocodile, who'd grown up and been trained to use a sword, but refused to to even touch it in defense of what was his, while the furious woman before him threw herself at him with reckless abandon in her fervor to return to her boy.

A parent fighting for their child, with no concern for herself.

He envied the boy, the small part of his heart that was still broken from that night so many years ago wishing he could have such a figure. As she tried to recover, leaving herself open to any number of attacks, that tiny sliver of his heart whispered to him, in a voice he could have sworn was his mother's. It quietly asked if he was willing to be the reason that boy never saw his mother again.

And as he watched her recover and arm herself once again, he knew that the answer was no. As heartless as he thought himself to be, every fiber of his being rebelled against the idea.

So he threw the fight.

And then he would think about what brought him to his current situation and the guilt at bringing the demon witch to her home. And then he'd think of her in the diner and the power in her body as she leaned against the bar, away from the others.

And the cycle would begin again.

He took another drink.

As the hours passed, he felt his eyes grow heavy and begin to slip shut, the darkness of the cabin finally seeping into his bones and dragging him into sleep. Right as he was on the cusp of unconsciousness, there was another bolt of lightning and a deep, rattling crack of thunder, and he jerked upright. But it wasn't the cacophony that had woken him.

Something was wrong.

He quickly stood, sending a sharp glance around the cabin to see if he could identify the source of the sensation. But with the next flare of lightning, his gut clenched and following some instinct he couldn't name, he rushed to the ladder and up onto deck.

The rain was coming down in torrents, and the visibility was next to nothing. He let his eyes run across the deck with the next flash of lightning, but again found nothing amiss.

But his heart was still hammering in his chest, and driven forward, he ran down to the main deck and leaned over the side. Just as his line of sight reached the full extent of the dock he was moored to, there was another flash, and he saw it.

Saw _her _.

He would recognize Emma Swan in any light, at any distance. And this was indeed Emma Swan. But with the next flash, he realized there was something very wrong. He dashed to the steps, barely keeping his feet under him in his haste to get to the dock. Once his feet hit the wooden planks he was moving to her.

Swan was standing still, not reacting to the rain in the slightest, save for the tiniest of shivers he could see racking her frame. Her hand was wrapped around her stomach, her red leather jacket pulled tight. But it was her eyes that sent the deep bolt of fear into his chest.

The razor sharp, crystal clear emerald of her eyes was non-existent, a muddied, dull green in their place. He stepped towards her, taking in the glassy look in her eye as she seemed to finally register his presence.

"Swan?" he managed to get the question out just loud enough to be heard over the ongoing tempest they were standing in.

The next flash of lightning highlighted a strange half smile on her lips, "I knew you'd be here." He didn't hear the words so much as read them on her lips. Then, in the next flash, the smile vanished and her brow furrowed. "I didn't know where else to go."

He had no idea what she was talking about but her demeanor was scaring him more and more the longer they stood out in the freezing rain. She still hadn't moved at all, so he risked closing the distance. She didn't react at all.

Swallowing hard and fighting down his own shivers, he carefully reached out to place a hand on her shoulder, "Swan?"

A violent shiver was the only warning he had before she crumbled forward into him, legs buckling. He barely managed to brace himself as her weight fell into him, but was able to get his arms underneath hers to keep her from completely collapsing. She was as cold as ice.

"Bloody hell." It took a moment to maneuver her dead weight, but he managed to twist her enough to scoop her up into his arms. He could feel her shaking and knew that he had to get her warm, now.

Forcing his own growing body's reaction to the cold aside, he made his way back to his ship, forcing himself to make sure each step was secure before taking the next, his whole being screaming at him to hurry up.

Carefully, he found the hidden step and made his way up to step over down onto the deck, foot falling heavily and causing him to jostle his load. He stilled, waiting to see if she would react. But there was nothing. She didn't move.

With another oath, he hurried to the stairs below deck, taking the longer route through the belly of the ship to his cabin, unwilling to risk trying to get her down the ladder from the quarterdeck. The protection from the wind chill was an added benefit.

He reached his cabin and kicked the door open, quickly moving to the bed to place Swan down gently on the covers. Once he was sure she was situated, he hurried to the far side of the cabin to grab the flint that sat on the edge of the window frame. He quickly lit the lanterns scattered around the cabin, engulfing the room in a warm glow.

Without a thought, he simply dropped the flint once he'd lit the last candle, hurrying back over to the bed and the still silent Swan that lay upon it. And now that he had the light, he understood why she'd been holding her belly.

"Gods."

The front of her shirt was stained brilliant red, small rivulets of pink trickling down onto his covers as the rain water tried to wash away the blood. There was a slash through the fabric that coincided with where the darkest stain of blood saturated her shirt.

He'd been a pirate long enough to know what it looked like when someone had been stabbed.

His mind stalled out, unable to process the still and pale body laying in front of him. It was like a nightmare. There was no way that this could be Emma Swan.

_Help the lady, you idiot._

The voice of his brother echoing in his mind abruptly jarred him from the panic that had been creeping over him. He shook his head and quickly kicked into action. He didn't want to jostle her at all, so he quickly pulled the knife that he kept under his pillow out and with a nervous glance at her unconscious face, went to cut her clothes off of her.

He reached for her jacket, then paused, wincing. With a quiet sigh, he put the knife aside, and gingerly pulled her arms out of her jacket, before sliding his arm under her body to lift her weight up just enough to pull the jacket off. Once he'd pulled the garment free, he grabbed the knife again and began to cut her free.

Still, there was no reaction from her as her wet skin was exposed to the slowly warming air of his cabin. As more of her skin was revealed, the higher his heart beat in his throat. There was no flush to her skin anywhere. She wasn't shivering, her skin wasn't covered in goose flesh. But it was what he saw when he cut her shirt free that had him nauseated with a worry he hadn't felt in centuries.

A large, ugly gash had her belly gaping open, blood still slowly welling up from the wound. But even more concerning than the wound itself were the black veins that were spanning out from the wound. Poison.

_I need to open up Regina's path, so when she breaks and she comes to me, our road to happiness is clear._

Cora's words came back to him abruptly and another stab of fear had him dashing across the cabin toward his concealed safe, needing several tries to unlock it and yank the door open. He felt like he was going to vomit. For in the spot where he kept the one vial he had paid several decades of his life for, there was no glass bottle. The bottle of Eternal Sleep, refined Dreamshade sap, the concoction designed to be lethal to even the Dark One himself, was missing.

As he cast a despairing look over his shoulder, he knew exactly where it had gone.

He moved back over to the bed, the absolute horror of the growing black lines causing his mind to shut down. His body moved automatically, pulling the aid kit from one of the drawers under his bed and proceeding to pour the small vile of potion he had over the wound to force the bleeding to stop. Then he cleaned the wound and deftly began to stitch the wound shut.

Now that it was no longer covered in blood, he could see that the stab wound was relatively small, more of a dagger wound than something from a sword. Cora must have realized that magic would be useless against Swan, and decided to finally get her hands dirty. If she couldn't rip Swan's heart out, she could just poison her heart instead.

He hadn't realized that he'd finished stitching up the wound until his hand started shaking so badly he dropped the needle he'd been using. Then he registered that he was still soaking wet.

Without really thinking about it, he quickly divested himself of the soaked fabric that was clinging to his skin. Then he headed over to the trunk in the corner and pulled out all of the blankets stored inside, lugging them over to the bed.

He carefully positioned the blanket under Swan's arm, then very, very carefully, rolled her completely over, thus moving her off the wet spot she'd been laying in and wrapping her up in the blanket as well.

Without thinking about it, he used his knife and just cut the wet portion of the blanket she'd been lying on off, before laying down another on top of the mattress. He climbed up next to her, and tugged the remaining few blankets on top of both of them, locking in the heat.

He wasn't entirely sure why he was bothering trying to warm her up, since she was going to die from the poison anyway. But he couldn't bring himself to stop trying.

Very, very carefully, he wrapped himself around her body, hoping that the warmth of his skin would bring the life back into hers. He closed his eyes so that he couldn't see her white face or blue lips, tucking his head into her neck, feeling something deep inside him, the same thing that had called out to her when they first met, screaming in anguish.

"I'm sorry Swan. I'm so sorry," he whispered into her skin. "This is all my fault. I brought her here. I had the poison. It's my fault. I'm so sorry."

He wasn't entirely sure why it felt like he himself was dying, given that he'd really only known her a short time, and been her enemy for most of it. If he believed in souls, he'd have said that there was a link between his soul and hers. That somehow, they were linked beyond standing on opposite sides of the board. But he didn't.

All he could think was that her son would grow up without a mother. Because of him. Again.

"Please forgive me, Swan," his voice was tight, his throat burning with all the emotions that were trying to break free. "I'm so sorry."

The moment at the top of the beanstalk crossed his mind. The moment right before she decided to turn on him. When he reached out to her and her hand was warm and strong in his. When their eyes had met and when in that moment he thought that she was exactly the kind of person he could fall in love with. A void that was yawning open within him whispering that perhaps he already had.

A soul that was a match to his, brought together across the realms. And like everything else, once meeting him, corrupted and destroyed.

He squeezed his eyes even more tightly shut, as if that would stop the thoughts.

"Gods love I'm so sorry."

Without really knowing why, he felt some strange compulsion in him, sparking across his skin, and he tilted his head to press a kiss to her shoulder. He knew, just like he'd known that Milah would offer him the horizon he'd craved, that the woman in his arms was the harbor he'd searched for for so long, lost at sea as he was, both within and without. Somehow he knew that he could have loved her as wholly as he had Milah.

Tears pressed at his eyes, and the guilt and despair, exhaustion and grief sapped at his strength, and without meaning to, the warmth trapped under the blankets and the weight of the woman in his arms lulled him into sleep.

He was brought sharply back out of unconsciousness when something pinched him hard in the side and he jerked awake with a startled yelp. Groggy, he was trying to gain his bearings when he heard it. The most beautiful sound in the world.

"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU NAKED?"


End file.
